


Deaths, Debts and Denials

by Queen of the Castle (queen_of_the_castle_77)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Dubious Consent, Humor, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_the_castle_77/pseuds/Queen%20of%20the%20Castle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I saved your life. You of all people should know that such generosity is never free."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deaths, Debts and Denials

**Author's Note:**

> Contains dubious consent, and Draco is 17 years old. Written for rakina for hpvalensmut. This fic is set pre-DH, so it doesn't really take into account the later canon (including all those pesky deaths).

_"I should have left you out there, you ungrateful brat."_

Snape grunted in pain as Draco clawed at his back. Draco wasn't sure whether he did so out of vengeance for the way his head had just whacked back against the headboard or for the burn of Snape's cock plunging into him a little too forcefully, or perhaps even for the marks Snape's own fingers had left around Draco's ribs earlier that night.

It certainly couldn't have been done out of pleasure. That was completely unthinkable.

Snape gasped, which startled Draco; it wasn't a sound he'd ever expected to hear coming from his Professor. He must have been close.

Draco thrust his hips upward to meet Snape, smirking in satisfaction when he saw Snape's teeth clench to hold back any further noises of pleasure. He just wanted to hurry things along, of course. It wasn't as though he liked that sort of thing. And it certainly wasn't as though he liked doing that sort of thing with _Snape_ , whose expression looked at that moment more as though he was suffering under a prolonged Cruciatus than as if he was potentially just moments away from orgasm.

Perhaps Draco should have insisted he do this on his hands and knees. Then he wouldn't have had to look at Snape. But then, he'd wanted the reminder of just who he was fucking and why.

Snape's lips moved so fast that Draco couldn't quite follow the spell he was suddenly casting. His hips pistoned downward more urgently. Then, as if no part of him could stand to be still, Snape's hand moved to curl around Draco's cock and gave it an uncoordinated sort of jerk.

Draco tried to sneer at Snape's lack of finesse. He really did try. He wrote his failure off by deciding that it wasn't worth mocking Snape. Really, he'd prefer to push Snape's hand away altogether. He would have done so, in fact, if he wasn't so preoccupied clinging to the sides of the tiny bed to make certain their movements didn't send them toppling off.

Draco didn't want to be touched, even though his traitorous cock responded favourably to the attention.

No standards, he berated it. Pathetic.

It didn't pay attention. It never did.

Draco's orgasm caught him off-guard, arriving at the tail end of Snape's. He hadn't meant to come. He hadn't wanted it. He didn't get off on having sex with Snape, after all. Just the idea of it made him want to laugh.

Even so, when Snape collapsed on top of him, Draco's brain was too melted for the moment to protest.

Draco thought he might have fallen asleep with his limbs tangled around Snape's if he let himself. He'd had an exhausting night, after all. But it would be pure idiocy to fall asleep beside – under – Snape. Just imagine waking up next to _that_ , he reminded himself firmly.

Thankfully, Snape shifted off him enough for Draco to drag himself up into a sitting position on the very edge of the bed.

Once Draco could actually draw enough breath to speak, he asked, "Is that it, then? Did it work? Am I safe?"

Snape sighed. "For now."

 

 _"Maybe you should have. I didn't need your help then and I don't need it now."_

The adrenaline that had fuelled Draco had vanished into thin air the moment he fell to the forest floor. He knew he had to get back up. The Apparition boundary was almost within reaching distance. If he could just bring himself to stand, or at the very least _crawl_ …

But then, Malfoys didn't crawl, so it was rather hopeless.

His only thought moments before when he'd been running as if a Dementor was after him had been that everything would be all right if he could only get to that boundary. Lying face-down in a pile of slightly damp leaf matter that smelled strongly, if he wasn't mistaken, of centaur piss, his outlook was suddenly a little bleaker.

He had failed. _Failed_.

The first time Draco had lost a Quidditch match, his father had put his cane to good use in matter-of-factly informing Draco that Malfoys didn't fail. Ever. Malfoys were good at everything. No, they weren't anything as common as 'good'. They were exceptional. They were the best.

The problem, though, was that the thing Draco truly excelled at seemed to be failure. When he failed, as he inevitably tended to do, he did so spectacularly. No other wizard in the world could possibly have managed to have Albus Dumbledore completely at their mercy and then not only fail to utter the few short syllables that would earn him glory beyond his wildest reckoning, but then also be brought down only inches from safety by an inanimate tree root.

It wasn't even a large root, Draco mused humourlessly.

What a spectacular failure indeed.

"Draco!"

The warning reached his ears only moments before he felt long fingers dig painfully into his ribs and roll him about a foot left of where he'd been lying. At first Draco believed that the red that shot across his vision was due to the pain of having a man – even one as emaciated as Snape – practically barrel into him at a sprint. He was quick to realise, however, that Snape's interference had allowed him to narrowly avoid a well-aimed Stunner.

He had to move. Now.

His legs had other ideas, apparently, for exhaustion and hopelessness had taken their toll.

"It's time to go," Snape said, "before more of them arrive."

His legs weren't any more inclined to take Snape's orders.

Snape hauled Draco to his feet, grabbing him roughly around the waist to drag him the remaining foot across the border of the Hogwarts grounds. Draco grunted angrily at the painful grip, which earned him an even tighter grip. That would undoubtedly leave marks.

He wondered whether it was a sign of madness to be worried about bruises when you knew you probably wouldn't live long enough for the injuries to even begin to show.

Draco saw someone – Potter, he realised with some amount of surprise – staggering to his feet in the distance. He looked even more deranged than usual, in Draco's expert opinion. Draco really didn't want to stick around long enough for him to catch up to them. The last thing he needed in his life at that moment was yet another dose of madness.

Draco laughed unexpectedly. Potter was insane. Draco was clearly insane himself. Snape was trying to help him rather than just saving himself like a proper Slytherin, so he couldn't be all there in the head either. Maybe the whole world had dipped into madness. Of course it had. Albus Dumbledore was dead, and that was impossible, right? Draco couldn't think of anything more insane than the very notion that he wasn't just dreaming that he'd practically killed a man.

He had blood on his hands, he realised abruptly. Understanding the Dark Lord now in a way he hadn't been able to before receiving his Mark, Draco thought that Dumbledore was probably just the beginning. The first crack before the dam broke into nothingness.

When Draco was sick moments later all over the horridly brown carpet that suddenly sprung up underneath him, he was quick to blame it on the wave of dizziness that came with Side-Along Apparition. Snape didn't look inclined to believe him. Fair enough. Draco didn't even believe it himself.

What the hell had he got himself into?

 

 _"You think you saved my life? By bringing me to this rat-hole? I didn't even want you to help me. Personally, I would rather have taken my chances with Potter and his lot."_

A finger trailed down Draco's chest. Draco noticed that it was stained yellow from potions work. The nail was jagged, bitten down almost to the quick, but still not short enough to stop a line of some unknown substance from getting trapped beneath the nail. Dirt smudged the knuckle where that finger met the rest of the hand. Draco refused to contemplate what lay beyond that lone digit. In fact, he wanted to bat the finger away. He was sickened that he was letting anything so dirty and _common_ anywhere near his skin. It was more disgusting than arousing.

He shuddered yet again.

He wanted to tell Snape that he didn't want to be touched that way, but if he opened his mouth with the word 'stop' on his lips, he wouldn't be able to limit himself. It was taking all his efforts not to push Snape away and tell him to stop altogether.

Even so, he wished Snape would stop trying to somehow make this good for him. It would be better if they could just cut their losses and get it the hell over with. After all, it wasn't _Draco's_ pleasure that was necessary here.

Draco closed his eyes and tried to visualize someone else touching him. That was what people did in this sort of situation, right? It was a good indication of how sad he'd let his life become over those past few months that he couldn't even bring to mind anyone he'd have liked to touch him.

"Professor," Draco breathed. He was startled by how sexual-sounding the words came out.

Snape recoiled, though Draco was uncertain it was at the tone of his voice or the use of the title, which clearly had no place there in bed with them.

"Severus," Draco corrected, though somehow that didn't seem any less awkward. Nothing could possibly make this less awkward, given the circumstances.

Severus remained still, waiting. He expected Draco to say something. Draco couldn't remember what he'd intended to say or even if he'd intended to say anything at all. But he must have said Snape's name for a reason.

He had to say something. Snape was expecting it.

Stop, he thought. He really should tell Snape to stop. What they were doing was wrong and disgusting and he really shouldn't be subjecting himself to it when he couldn't even be assured that it was necessary.

"Get on with it, already," Draco said instead, sounding appropriately resigned.

 

 _"It doesn't matter what you wanted. It's never mattered, if you recall. The only thing that matters is that I saved your life. You of all people should know that such generosity is never free."_

"Can't I just save _your_ life?" Draco moaned, clutching his robes tightly around him. "I thought that was the whole point of a life debt."

"My continued existence isn't currently in danger, Mr Malfoy."

"But we could put your life in danger!" Draco exclaimed eagerly. "You could fall off a broomstick from fifty feet up and I could swoop in and grab you. Or you could poison yourself and I could shove a bezoar down your throat. Or maybe –"

The sharp intensity of Snape's glare made the words catch in Draco's throat. He swallowed nervously. "Or maybe _not_ ," he concluded.

"You should be thankful. You're alive. I would think that satisfying a life debt is a small price to pay. Or would you have preferred that I had left you to die?"

Draco sneered. "Confronted with a fate worse than death? Yes, maybe I would have preferred it if you just left me there."

Snape's eyes flashed angrily. "When are you going to grow up and realise that your actions have consequences. At least one man died tonight as a direct result of your conduct."

Draco swallowed back the bile that automatically rose at the thought.

"I didn't…"

"What? You didn't know? You didn't want it to happen that way? You may have learned to shield your mind, Draco, but you are still utterly transparent in every way that matters. That is why we must do this. The Dark Lord will see through you in an instant if you return. He will know that you owe me. He will use it against you. I can shield you from his wrath, but only if you'll let me."

That wasn't, Draco suddenly considered, a very Slytherin thing for Snape to do.

"Why do you want to help me?"

Snape looked down his hooked nose contemptuously. "That, Mr Malfoy, is my business and mine alone. Be glad that I'm going to save your hide and leave it at that."

 

 _"Are you… are you asking for_ payment _?"_

Draco wasn't sure where they had Apparated to, but he knew immediately that it wasn't the sort of place he would have chosen. It hardly looked safe, with its rickety shelving covering every inch of wall around them – Draco half expected to be buried in an avalanche of musty books at any moment. There were scorch marks on the floor that gave the impression of many a cauldron having been reduced to scrap metal. Not to mention the _smell_ …

Draco grimaced. But really, what choice did he have but to stay there?

He'd failed the Dark Lord. He'd known even before Dumbledore had said a word to that effect that he couldn't possibly go through with it. He'd known that he couldn't obey the Dark Lord's orders. He'd known, even then, that he was a dead man. His body just hadn't quite hit the ground yet.

He knew it was childish, but he really wanted to see his mother one last time before the Dark Lord made his certain death a reality.

His mother would be horrified to know where he was. His mother would be horrified to know what had happened to him over the past few hours. She had never wanted this for him. He'd failed her just as plainly as he'd failed the Dark Lord.

His mother had made it clear all year that she’d wanted him home, where it was supposedly safe. He didn't need to finish school, she'd said. They had enough money that they could run. It had been so tempting that Draco had had to merely turn away from her pleading eyes and pretend she had never spoken of it.

He'd known that he couldn't run. Even if they'd somehow managed to evade the Dark Lord, which seemed even more impossible to Draco now that he truly had a _reason_ to run, he hadn't been able to bear the idea of leaving his father to die.

Besides, if Lucius Malfoy died and Draco disappeared, the Ministry would claim the Manor and any remaining assets. Draco knew that pride made men act foolishly, but the only thing he'd ever cared about was his family, and by extension his name. He hadn't been able to turn away from that.

He wished he could have. Perhaps that might have saved him.

Snape may have saved his life, but Draco certainly hadn't asked for it. It only bought him time. He'd rather have gone quickly. He'd rather not have known it was coming. The thought of going back to the Dark Lord knowing that he was going to his death was terrifying.

For all his bluster, Draco knew very well that he was a coward. Though they generally chose to call it self-preservation, most Slytherins were cowards. It was so prevalent among them, in fact, that they hardly even considered a character flaw. After all, why fight and die when you can run and live?

But running wasn't going to save him this time. He wasn't sure that anything could.

 

 _"You owe me a life debt, Draco. You know it must be repaid, one way or another. While I personally want nothing from you, the Dark Lord would undoubtedly see it as a great opportunity to make you do whatever he wanted before he killed you. Even he grows bored of using the Imperius Curse over time. Don’t tempt him."_

It was strange, Draco thought. The very idea that Snape was somehow trying to make him more comfortable with the fact that he was about to whore himself in return for what even Snape admitted might be an empty promise of safety was absurd.

And yet there he was, pressed lightly against the wall with Snape's lips on his. Snape's body was firm and unexpectedly strong against his, though if Draco chose to actually make an effort to break away, he knew Snape wouldn't stop him.

That was the worst part. Draco was doing this, whatever _this_ really was, of his own accord. Snape wasn't forcing anything on him, at least not in the strictest sense of the word.

Still, it was difficult to remember that when Draco opened his eyes only to be confronted with Snape's face. Even though he obviously knew who he'd been kissing, it was an entirely different thing to actually see that Snape's lips were the ones he was abruptly jerking away from.

If he hadn't known better, Draco might have thought that Snape looked a little hurt at that rejection.

Snape clearly wanted to make what was coming enjoyable – or, at least, bearable – for Draco. Perhaps in different circumstances, he might have been able to succeed. Perhaps if they’d had time for Draco to order him into the bath so that he could wash away part of what made him so obviously Snape. Perhaps if they'd been able to Apparate to the Manor and have sex on the thick, wide mattress and silk sheets of the bed in the guest room nearest to Draco's bedroom. Perhaps…

But as things stood, Draco couldn't find any solace in the fact that Snape obviously wasn't just using him for his own nefarious purposes, impressively Slytherin though that would have been.

Draco was sure, knowing that he was with Snape, that he couldn't possibly get any pleasure out of what was to come. Nor should he. It would make everything so much simpler to keep this encounter strictly business-like.

He was saving his own hide by using any and all means necessary to achieve his ends. He was being Slytherin to the core. His pride could allow that, as long as he didn't let this thing between himself and Snape become anything other than a necessity.

So Draco suppressed the shiver that ran through him when Snape ran his fingers over Draco's skin as he undressed him. It was a shudder, he told himself. It was absolutely, certainly a shudder, because Snape was abhorrent.

Draco shoved any feelings of pleasantness well away and focused instead on Snape's flaws. He reminded himself that what he was doing was disgusting. It really should feel that way.

 

 _"You're the one I'm indebted to. You could stop him from using it against me. You could protect me."_

As Draco watched Snape writhe on the ground, his mouth open in a wordless cry of agony, he wondered for what seemed like the millionth time why Snape had chosen to help him.

Surely he'd known that this was coming. The Dark Lord, Draco had come to realise, had something of an itchy wand hand. He cast Unforgivables around at the slightest provocation, and sometimes for no perceivable reason at all. Snape had given him more than enough reason. If Draco didn't know better, he might have thought that Snape had a death wish. Or that he was secretly some sort of Gryffindor.

The latter possibility appeared infinitely more probable with each passing second. Snape seemed to be drawing the Dark Lord's attention away from Draco by ensuring that he himself would be punished. In fact, the Dark Lord was so intent on Snape that he'd barely said a word to Draco at all.

"My faithful servants have informed me that you have failed the task I gave you, and that Severus killed Albus Dumbledore in your stead," the Dark Lord had accused.

"I didn't give him the chance to do it, my Lord," Snape interrupted before Draco could respond. "I saw that he had not done it yet and stepped in myself. Time was of the essence."

"You were told only to act if it became obvious Draco would not kill Dumbledore himself. You have given away your position as my spy in the Order of the Phoenix for no reason."

"Yes, my Lord. I apologise."

That had earned Snape his first Cruciatus curse of the night.

The second had come soon after. Draco was somewhat stunned when Snape didn't even attempt to conceal the life debt and its subsequent fulfilment from the Dark Lord. He was a brilliant Legilimens. Surely he could at least make some attempt to save himself from punishment?

"I'm sorry, my Lord. I wanted him and I took my opportunity to have him. I did not think."

While Snape suffered his punishment, the Dark Lord had looked across the room at Draco and raised his eyebrow suggestively. It was enough to make the rest of the Death Eaters dissolve into cackling, as well as evocative comments and gestures aimed in Draco's direction.

"Like 'em young, do you Snape?" someone called out. "I always wondered why you taught up at that school all those years."

Draco didn't think he'd ever been so humiliated in his life. He was glad for the first time that his father was locked up in Azkaban. He couldn't imagine how much worse it would have been if he'd been there to witness Draco's degradation.

However, when Snape fell to the floor screaming once more later in the meeting, not even having given the Dark Lord a reason to punish him that time, Draco decided that withstanding the jeering looks of the other Death Eaters was a small price to pay for avoiding what Snape was going through. Or worse than that, in fact. Draco might be a coward and a failure, but he wasn't stupid. He knew that Snape had earned himself a certain amount of the Dark Lord's good will, if there was such a thing, for killing his greatest enemy. It was part of the reason Snape had decided to take the Dark Lord's wrath upon himself in Draco's place. Unlike Draco, the Dark Lord was unlikely to damage Snape _too_ badly.

Perhaps if they both survived the meeting, Draco would thank Snape.

For now, he simply shuddered in horror and was silently grateful.

 

 _"Yes, I could. If you are willing to pay a certain price, that is."_

Snape, who had been impassively watching Draco in silence since they'd arrived in whatever hovel Snape had brought him to, pushed himself away from the book-lined wall upon which he'd been leaning. He swept across the room towards Draco, looming over him as if they were back in Potions class and Draco was an eleven year old Hufflepuff. An especially incompetent one at that, if Snape's suddenly thunderous expression was anything to go by.

"You idiot child," Snape growled.

"I'm not a child," Draco replied, though his voice didn't sound quite as haughty as he'd intended.

"On the contrary, every single thing you've done in your life to date has only served to reiterate just how far from maturity you really are."

Draco scowled and yanked up the torn left sleeve of his school robe to reveal the Dark Mark.

"I wouldn't have been given this if I was still a child,” Draco protested. “I wouldn't have been tasked with killing _Dumbledore_ if I wasn't an adult."

Snape's eyes bored into Draco's. " _That_ – that Mark – is the most childish thing you have _ever_ done. Your willingness to kneel before another doesn't make you a man. Just as I wear my Mark as a badge of my own stubborn childishness and inability to see the truth, you wear yours as a testament to the fact that you weren't man enough to stand up for yourself. You should have run while you had the chance. You should have left your father to deal with the fall out of his own choices and done what you could to protect both yourself and your mother. Instead, like a child, you promised to do something you knew even then you couldn’t possibly be capable of. And now you have left me to deal with your mess."

"Maybe I should go to the Dark Lord and tell him what you just said to me," Draco challenged. "I'm sure he'd like to know how you talk when he's not around to hear. How _disloyal_ you sound, speaking of taking his Mark as if it was a mistake."

"You could tell him that,” Snape said uncaringly. “It won't matter. The Dark Lord did not become the greatest wizard in the world by being dim-witted and blind. When he has to choose whether to believe the word of his trusted servant of many decades who has just killed his greatest enemy, or the word of a desperate teenage boy who has utterly failed him, I think you can imagine who he will favour.”

Draco wished the man didn’t have such a good point.

"Going against me will only hurt your case,” Snape continued. “However, if you work with me, I can help you. I've already saved your life once tonight. I can do the same again, if you'll put aside your pride long enough to let me."

"I'm a Malfoy,” Draco said, imbuing the name with all of the grandeur it deserved. “The pride that comes along with that isn't something that can be just 'put aside'. It's ingrained. Not that _you'd_ know anything about pureblood pride."

Snape scowled. "I should have left you out there, you ungrateful brat."

"Maybe you should have. I didn't need your help then and I don't need it now," Draco spat. But even as he said it, he recognised it as a lie. He would have already been dead, or at least as good as dead and on the way to Azkaban and what few Dementors remained there. And if left to either face the Dark Lord or flee from him without any assistance, Draco rather thought he'd be _begging_ for the Dementors before long.

He set his jaw stubbornly and tried to argue his case, but Draco was above everything a Slytherin and a Malfoy. If Snape had any way to save his life and his family's standing…

 

 _"Name it."_

~FIN~


End file.
